


I'll Crawl Home to Him

by WildnessBecomesYou



Series: Music is Not the Food of Love, but the Messenger [8]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Getting Together, I swear to god I can't make anything with these two that isn't Soft, I'm not sorry, M/M, Songfic, Switching bodies, Vague mentions of sex, a mix of:, and it took over the fic, and:, but so does Aziraphale, canon adjacent, crowley needs reassurance, i saw a picture on twitter and it gave me an Idea, it's mostly compliant so, post-armageddidn't, the Idea made my cousin go Oh Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 08:57:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19353703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildnessBecomesYou/pseuds/WildnessBecomesYou
Summary: My babe would never fret noneAbout what my hands and my body doneIf the Lord don't forgive meI'd still have my baby and my babe would have meWhen, my, time comes aroundLay me gently in the cold dark earthNo grave can hold my body downI'll crawl home to herAfter the End of Days that wasn't the End of Days, the boys switch bodies. Aziraphale is scared of losing Crowley a second time.





	I'll Crawl Home to Him

**Author's Note:**

> Summary sounds a LOT worse than it is, wow. 
> 
> Songfic inspired by Work Song (Hozier) and this picture off twitter: https://twitter.com/tortillamarii/status/1142908966281703425 
> 
> This was originally going to be a body-switch to Work Song fic, and then I saw the first picture in that set, had an idea, and it ran away with me. This is substantially longer than my other songfics, so I hope y'all enjoy <3

“Stop them! Stop them!” 

In Aziraphale’s body, Crowley’s heart broke. His angel, in his own body, desperately trying to save him. To save a demon— though, to all accounts of anyone who might remember this, it truly looked like the demon was trying to save the angel. 

Still. 

The angels dragged Crowley away, and Crowley watched Aziraphale go down with a blow to the head, and vowed he’d have revenge for that. He watched Aziraphale twist around and could almost see the sting of betrayal in his eyes. He watched his own mouth form around the words “tickety-boo,” and then Uriel said something about struggling and the world went dark. 

Fuck that, was his first waking thought. 

But, Someone hear him, he was fucking _exhausted_. 

I mean, sure, they’d had last night to sleep or whatever, but they’d also just saved the world. And truth be told, they hadn’t done much sleeping. They’d done a lot of scheming. They’d also done a lot of very sweet, nearly sinful things. 

Crowley would be damned a second time before he let someone take that away from him. He would fight his way back to his angel if he had to. Nothing would stop him.

Except maybe the ropes around his wrist at present. 

He waited for the archangels to find him awake. He wanted sleep, not forced unconsciousness, but sleeping would be dangerous. Would closing his eyes? He’d still be able to sense others around him.

And some said resting was as good as sleeping. 

So he closed his eyes, let his mind slip back to the night before. The touch of Aziraphale’s lips, sweet and secure; the heat of his skin, warm and searing in the _best_ kind of way; the love in his eyes, which burned a different way for Crowley. The words Aziraphale had spoken. The learning they’d shared. The love exchanged. More, promises of more, quiet desperate attempts to reassure themselves that all this would work. 

An angel cleared their throat uncomfortably. Crowley remembered angels could feel love. “Apologies,” he said primly in a voice not his. 

Not that he meant it. 

*~*~*

Now, when Aziraphale woke up in Crowley’s body, being dragged through the halls of Hell, he awoke with a start. Good God, he marveled, he’d thought angels were cruel. 

His next thought was that this was all wrong, so _wrong_. 

_No one_ should be handling his demon like this, this was undignified, this was evil, and no one should treat his demon this way. 

Now, as it turned out, Aziraphale had a bit of a secret. 

Aziraphale had known Crowley before his Fall. He’d known the demon as an angel, as a curious and smiling red-winged angel who simply thought too much to directly obey orders. He’d been friends with the angel. He’d practically followed at the other angel’s heels, actually, loving the questions he asked, drinking in the knowledge that resulted from the answers, hungry for more. And Crowley, in his angel skin, had laughed and teased him that he wasn’t going to make a very good soldier if he kept doubting the way Crowley did. 

And then God struck him down.

And in all honestly, Aziraphale had been ready to Fall with him. He’d folded his wings back, tumbling through the blackness after the angel-that-would-be-Crowley, reaching out with his hands, trying to reach terminal velocity just a _bit_ faster, he was so close— 

He’d watched red wings turn black except for the very tips. He’d watched the blackness swallow his best friend, and he’d turned in the air, arms fisted by his side, and screamed at God. 

“All he did was ask questions!” 

And as far as the angel could tell, that was all Crowley could remember Before the Fall. Or, blessedly, Of the Fall. He remembered pain, of course, but he remembered Aziraphale’s phrase. 

Not his voice, but at least the words had made it. 

Aziraphale had done a double take when the serpent had transformed next to him, three “days” later. He’d hoped against hope that Crowley remembered him, but the demon hadn’t. 

It didn’t matter. He would always choose Crowley, always find him. And that, Aziraphale supposed, had been punishment enough in God’s eyes. It had been enough of a punishment for God to save him from his own Fall, scoop him back into Her arms and soothe his pain. 

Crowley had been thrown from Heaven once. Aziraphale would not see him thrown from Hell. No, if Crowley were leaving Hell, Aziraphale would see that he _sauntered_ away. 

So he stilled the thoughts of the night before and raised an eyebrow, planted a satisfied smirk on his face. 

*~*~*

After the fire, Crowley stepped forward in Aziraphale’s body, straightening his coat, and smiled primly. “I suppose that’s that, then, isn’t it?”

He was allowed a quick, seamless exit. 

He sat on a park bench, waiting for his angel. He reached out in his mind for the angel, tried to ignore the people who inevitably came to sit on a bench with him, somehow finding this body friendly enough to occupy some space with. 

He let his mind wander again.

Last night had just felt so familiar, so right. Their bodies had fit together wonderfully. Aziraphale had seemed to know all the right places to touch his demon, and Crowley had found himself falling willingly into it all. He’d thought his own hands fumbling, but Aziraphale had leaned in to his hands, kissed his knuckles and his palms, an inexplicable look of gratitude on his face. 

He remembered when Aziraphale had asked him to turn over, traced the scars on his back, pressed fingers down gently, just enough pressure to mend and soothe. He remembered the feeling of lips on his back, a careful kiss placed to each line, each cross of red. He remembered the tears that came to his own eyes, the surprise that jumped in his throat when Aziraphale revealed he’d been crying as well. 

He closed his eyes, tilting his hips slightly, and did not open his eyes again until the bench under him creaked.

*~*~*

Aziraphale sat down next to Crowley primly, and the two exchanged bodies, swapped stories. They went to lunch. They toasted to the world.

Aziraphale forgot, in his recklessness, to guard his Love, and yet he found himself almost knocked over by the force of Love emanating from Crowley. 

“Crowley,” he began softly, “do you remember…”

“Remember what, angel?”

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut, trying to damper down the panic. He was so focused on it that he nearly jumped when Crowley slipped his hand into Aziraphale’s and squeezed lightly. 

He opened his eyes and forced a smile. “In Rome, when we…”

“When you attempted to tempt me to oysters?” Crowley laughed. “Yes, I remember. Still don’t like oysters. Still think it’s funny that you tempted me to try an aphrodisiac.”

Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief. Then, chuckling, “Yes, I suppose that is rather contrary.”

He nearly missed Crowley picking up the bill, handing it back to the waiter with an almost _kind_ “Keep the change.” 

He allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, to be led through the streets, until they were standing in the famed Berkeley Square. He spotted a bench, moved towards it with Crowley in tow. The two sat, much like they always had, except this time they were pressed thigh to thigh, and Crowley’s arm circled around Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

“Something’s still bothering you, angel,” Crowley murmured. 

Aziraphale sighed. He didn’t know how to explain this. “You— last night, when we, ah— well, I suppose when _you_ —“ 

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “When I freaked out a bit because I let it hit me that I’d thought you were dead?”

“Yes, that,” Aziraphale said, his hands moving with his words now. A nervous habit. “And what I said?”

Crowley smiled, almost a smirk, his thumb brushing over Aziraphale’s bicep. “That nothing would keep you from me, that you’d always find your way home to me?”

“Yes, that.” Aziraphale’s hands stilled, rested on his lap. A moment of silence passed. 

“Aziraphale?”

Another moment of silence. 

And then—

“ _MaybeIneedtohearthattoo._ ”

“Sorry,” Crowley said, looking genuinely confused, “I— I didn’t get that.”

Aziraphale sighed, letting his head fall back, not missing that Crowley’s hand nearly came up to support it. “Maybe I need to hear that too.”

The silence that followed was deafening. The sudden absence of Crowley’s warmth against him made Aziraphale shut his eyes violently, cursing himself for ruining this second chance. 

“Angel, I… where’s—“

It all spilled out of Aziraphale in a rush. “I knew you, before you Fell, and I tried to Fall _with_ you, I swear, but She— She wouldn’t let me, I think She thought that wouldn’t be punishment to me, and then when you came back to me— well, when you came back, you had no idea who I was, and that was _fine_ , I was _fine_ with it, I mean you’d gone through something traumatic! But I’d _missed you_ , and I kept missing you every moment we were apart, and I— I don’t know, I guess I was afraid you’d forget _again_ and we’d have to start over and I can do that I just need to be prepared—“ 

Crowley squeezed his hands, and that was enough to cut the angel off. 

“Angel, please look at me.”

Aziraphale did, and was surprised to find that Crowley wasn’t wearing his sunglasses. He was staring at Aziraphale with his gorgeous, slitted, golden eyes. 

“If they take me from you,” Crowley said, low and gravelly, and raw and honest, “I will find my way back home to you, and I will remember every touch and every word, because you are _seared_ into my memory.” 

Aziraphale felt like he was dreaming. His head felt all floaty, and he wondered if humans had to deal with this every time they felt relief, because this was actually rather troublesome.

He kissed Crowley, just to see if that would stop the floaty feeling. It didn’t, but he regained Crowley’s arms around him, and that was good too.

Later, in Crowley’s flat (closer than Aziraphale’s shop, you know, and time was not to be wasted), Crowley lifted his head from Aziraphale’s chest with curiosity in his eyes. 

“What was the last thing you said to… angel me?” 

Aziraphale swallowed. “It wasn’t to you, I suppose, but you were there.” Crowley nodded, his hand sliding up and over Aziraphale’s shoulder in soothing encouragement. “All he ever did was ask questions.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Crowley was laughing. 

“What?! It’s not funny!” 

He forgot how to be offended when Crowley kissed him again.

*~*~*

They learned how to be by themselves. They learned, as time passed, that they didn’t need forgiveness, not from Above or Below. They did not need forgiveness for their deeds, because it was of no concern to the Greater Powers what the angel and demon said or did. They learned that forgiveness was given freely from one to the other, that wrong and right and done and undone did not matter between them. They learned the unshakeable steadiness of the other by their side. They learned the freedom of dimly lit spaces and brightly lit spaces. 

They learned the freedom of Love.


End file.
